


pretty (kinda dirty) boys

by goldhorn (englishsummerrain)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22771645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/goldhorn
Summary: There was nothing before Renjun.Now — there’s this.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 114





	pretty (kinda dirty) boys

**Author's Note:**

> part of the universe of a larger piece coming soon (tm)
> 
> (sky/burn speedwrite) // [title/inspo/etc](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iyy3YOpxL2k)

The trailer door swings open, hinges slamming, pale sunlight illuminating the floor littered with scratch offs and dirty clothing. A cloud of smoke follows Renjun in and he’s laughing and the world is spinning around him — Jaemin’s world is spinning around him. Renjun’s hands in his are sweaty and hot and he lets his cigarette drop onto the floor, stamps it with the heel of his combat boot and almost crushes a plastic happy meal toy before he holds out his arms for Jaemin to jump to him. 

Jaemin always jumps.

There’s a knife hidden under his bomber and the sky is concrete grey and the neighbour’s dog is barking — and Renjun always catches him. He holds him for a second, two. Arms straining — sweat on his brow like oil on a bird’s feather, sticking to his skin. They fall backwards onto the couch, Jaemin sprawled on top of him, and Renjun’s mouth finds his. Coke in the pocket of his jeans, crumpled dollar bills stuffed into his jacket, front door slamming shut in the wind.

Jaemin’s hands wind in his shirt and Renjun pushes back against him and he’s laughing — he’s laughing so hard, high on life, high on love. This dizzying all encompassing feeling that runs between them, that swallows him up every time Renjun’s eyes meet his. 

He’s kissing him and laughing and his clothes hit the floor— bomber thrown on top of a pile of overdue bills, shirt full of cigarette burns discarded amongst the dirty dishes. Renjun’s hands splayed against his bare chest, heel of his palm pushing at his nipples, rubbing the piercings against the bones of his ribs sticking out under his sunburnt skin. Jaemin gasps and bucks into him and the couch groans beneath their combined weights, broken springs and torn up foam barely holding together.

They should get a new one.  _ Should _ . They won’t. They can’t afford it — have to save to run away from here. They’ve got a plan to escape, and they need the money for it. A plan to be together and start again. To get away from this dead end dust bowl where the only thing to do is fuck and take drugs — to get away from dead end jobs and this life of crime. Renjun wants to start new. Jaemin wants to follow. Jaemin will be wherever he is — wherever it takes him.

It’s a chase through to the bedroom — detoured by Renjun pushing him up against the kitchen counter and slipping a hand under his waistband (Jaemin’s not wearing underwear) to jerk him off. He’s beautiful — Renjun’s so beautiful. The sky is dull grey and Jaemin can’t tell you where the sun is, only that maybe it’s in Renjun’s eyes.

He’s naked when he hits the bed. Spares a thought for the drugs in his jean pocket — discarded somewhere in the door frame. Though it’s just one thought — the rest are for Renjun.

Renjun is something else — god. Where did he find him? How did he find him, what did he do to deserve this? They have somewhere to be, he thinks. He was supposed to be at a movie with Jeno, maybe — supposed to help Chenle with some kind of delivery. It doesn’t matter now. 

Renjun is here — Jaemin is here. 

He’s naked in bed and Renjun is hovering above him, he’s touching him, he’s touching him just — god. Jaemin throws his head back and moans and Renjun says his name — thick with lust. Jaemin won’t beg for it but — he wants it. He needs it. Renjun’s hands tremble where they touch him and Jaemin whimpers. One hand on his cock, slick heat, his fingers inside him. Inside of him and around him, his eyes burning into Jaemin. The tattoos on his biceps breathe in time with the pump of his fist and — god.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, babe,” Jaemin says. Renjun’s eyes are black coals, the heart of the furnace — and he’s back on top of him. Lube smeared hands tugging at his hair, his mouth on Jaemin’s. It’s electric — it’s fire and sunlight and this rushing roar like the maw of a dragon, hot breath and a blaze that spreads across his skin. Renjun frotting against him, cock smearing precum against his stomach, their bodies clashing together. 

There’s words exchanged. Somewhere or another — words that aren’t names, that aren’t pleas. That aren’t pet names or something sweet. Words that end with Renjun inside of him — with Renjun’s hands in his hair and his mouth on his neck, painting red splotches alongside all the other bruises he leaves like a signature across Jaemin’s skin. He’s Renjun’s work of art — his masterpiece, and Jaemin wants the world to know it. 

There was nothing before Renjun. Now — there’s this.

Renjun’s hips stutter against his and Jaemin pushes against him — breathes I love yous into his mouth, digs his nails into the expanse of his back. It’s dirty and messy and raw — the bed hits the wall and Renjun pins him to the mattress — but it’s them. It’s Jaemin gasping and moaning and Renjun fucking into him, hair haloing around his face, pale sunlight on his back. Jaemin tells him more — faster, faster. They’re on the run — it’s them against the world. He shuts his eyes and the slap of Renjun’s hips hitting his skin sounds like boots on concrete. 

They roll over, drowning in the crimson sheets like they’re swimming in a tide of blood. Jaemin draws his nails down Renjun’s chest and fucks himself on him, gasping encouragement — you’re so good, you’re so good, babe, c’mon — kissing him until he can’t take it anymore. Renjun’s hands scrabble at him, rings cold against the skin of his cock. He’s staring up at him with wonder in his eyes and there’s police sirens on the highway, a wail, a crescendo. Renjun’s name in his mouth — it’s okay. They won’t catch us. They won’t get us.

Jaemin loses himself. He wants to fall into Renjun like he’s diving into a lake, wants to fill his lungs with his taste, breathe in his air. 

Jaemin’s leans over to kiss him again, sweaty and desperate, shivering. His words are shaky and broken in two, coming in hiccuping gasps. The sirens get louder again — a pursuit. Jaemin has to reassure Renjun — he’s losing himself, one hand digging into Jaemin’s back, more scratches against bruises and cigarette burns. It’s not us they’re after. We’re invincible. It’s not us. Not for us.

“If they came for us, I’d die for you. I’d die trying. It doesn’t matter.”

Jaemin rolls off him, Renjun leaking out of him as he reaches for a smoke and lights it.

“Blaze of glory, right?” Jaemin says.

Jaemin raises his hand and links a pinky with him. The air is hazy and stinks of stale smoke and sex and he’s sticky with sweat. There’s another dog barking — not the same one, one of those yappie dogs that would probably kill you if it was normal sized. High pitched. Renjun’s breathing, slow and steady. He passes the cigarette to him and holds it to his lips as he inhales, leans over to press a kiss to mouth after he’s blown the smoke into the air.

“Hell or high water. Blaze of glory. You make it worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [twit](https://twitter.com/dongrenle)/[cc](https://curiouscat.me/goldhorn)


End file.
